


Look at Me, Please.

by leaves_from_the_vine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Misunderstandings, Soft Tsukishima Kei, ish, kinda angsty so you do you, mentions of abuse, this is so soft guys pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaves_from_the_vine/pseuds/leaves_from_the_vine
Summary: "I don’t want to cause him this much pain, but it takes several moments for me to tear my eyes from the floor. I settle my eyes on the face I’ve memorised every part of. The face I’ve drawn constellations on. The face I want to touch and hold and look at forever.I don’t know when I came to that realization. I don’t remember telling myself so explicitly how much I wanted to hold him, to touch him, to look at him. Maybe this is the first time, maybe I’ve done it a million times in the past 10 years."__Tsukishima is desperate for an explanation from his best friend. Why is he leaving? Why is he walking away from everything they'd built up in the past decade? Why? Why? Why?__Alternatively: Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have a long overdue heart to heart and share a toothachingly sweet moment in Yamaguchi's living room.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Kudos: 35





	Look at Me, Please.

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the tags, here's your TW: There is a flashback which contains descriptions of violence and child abuse, so PLEASE do not read if you are sensitive to such. If not, please enjoy! ALSO, this is not angsty to the point of tears, and there is a happy ending! I would have indicated in the tags if this were not the case! ALSO, I wrote this on melatonin at 2 am a while back, so do with that what you will.  
> Have fun :D  
> -G.L.

“Why?” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and his freckles no longer blend together. The darkness under his eyes jumps out at me, and I notice now how thin he’s become. I want to help him. I want to touch him, I want to wrap my arms around him and never let go, but I can’t move a finger. None of it would help. He doesn’t want me around anymore, and it’s all my fault. I’ve pushed him over the edge. So it’s weird, that even though I accept all the blame, though I know it’s better to walk away, my feet are more rooted into the ground than ever. I begin to shake, little tremors running from my toes to my gut, the quiver that begins at the tips of my fingers spreads to my chest, sparking up a flame in my heart. My face is hot, and I have to look down at the matted beige rug. Everything is blurry, not because my glasses have completely fallen, but because hot tears threaten to jump out. I clench my teeth for a split second, and I barely notice the sting of fingernails breaking the skin of my palms. “Why?” my voice is lower than I expected it to be, but it still reverberates - bouncing off of every thin wall and slowly sinking back into the suffocating silence. 

“Tsukishima I-” His voice is thin, but it still sounds stronger than I feel. My knees are going to give in any minute. 

_Tsukishima_. I hate it when he says my name. I hate it when he says it like that. He hasn’t said it like that in 10 years. 

I don’t have to move my eyes from the floor to know he has turned away from me. I don’t need to look up to see the whites of his knuckles as his thin fingers grip the back of his father’s rocking chair. I don’t need to look up to know he’s shaking as bad as me. 

“Why won’t you _talk_ to me, Yamaguchi.” God. I want to yell more than anything. I want to scream at him until my vocal chords rip in half. I want to throw things and pull my hair out and beg him to stay. I want to beg him to not leave me alone. I want him to tell me why the hell he walks with Yachi to school, why he won’t look at me anymore, why he’s packing up and moving away. 

“It isn’t as easy as you think,” his voice is steadier this time. I know he’s less tense. The tremors coursing through his body are fewer and farther between. “Nothing I’m doing is working. Fuck, Tsukki, I-” He’s holding back. It’s on the tip of his tongue. It is this that breaks me. The only person I have ever completely trusted, and the only person who has given me their trust in return, is holding back from me.

Jagged moments from blurry memories rip through me. Those idiots towering over a six year old on the verge of tears. Splitting onigiri between classes. The freckled fifteen year old helping me find my passion for the first time in 8 years. Stepping in as Yamaguchi Sr. aimed an empty glass at his son’s head. 

Everything we had, pulled from my chest as Yamaguchi stuttered with his back to me.

“God, why do you do this.” He says it with an empty chuckle, his tone raising, filling the space a bit more. He shuffles for a moment, and I feel his eyes on the top of my head. One foot falls in front of the other, like he’s walking on a taut string, balancing over a pit of honesty and raw emotion. Every step he takes sucks more breath out of my lungs, and he sounds as breathless as I when he whispers, “You have no idea how hard I’m trying to keep myself away.” 

_Another Step_.

“I know you think I don't want you around me. Maybe that’s what I wanted you to think, I don’t know.” Something drops silently, staining the beige carpet with a small, neat circle of dark brown.

_Step._

“But God, Tsukki. You don’t want me around you. I don’t know what you’d think of me.” Nothing is making sense. My heart is pounding in my ears. What I’d think of him? God the only thing I can think about _is_ him. He is perfect. I would do anything to keep thinking of him.

_He’s so close._

“You are everything to me.” I barely hear him. Barely. 

Ten fingers wrap themselves around my jaw, lifting my head up slowly. A thumb brushes over my cheek and up my nose, the temple tips of my glasses settling behind my ears. 

“Look at me.” He whispers once more, as if trying to keep his words a secret from anyone but me. “Please.” His strained voice rips me apart once more. I don’t want him to beg me for anything. I don’t want to cause him this much pain, but it takes several moments for me to tear my eyes from the floor. I settle my eyes on the face I’ve memorised every part of. The face I’ve drawn constellations on. The face I want to touch and hold and look at forever. 

I don’t know when I came to that realization. I don’t remember telling myself so explicitly how much I wanted to hold him, to touch him, to look at him. Maybe this is the first time, maybe I’ve done it a million times in the past 10 years.

Instinctively, my fingers reach up and wipe the glimmering tears from his peppered cheeks, as well as catching a few new ones. As I watch him closely, every breath feels like my last. Our last. My hands feel cold and my face feels warm, and palpitating electricity replaces the paralyzing quiver stretching through every skin cell. 

“Please, Yamaguchi,” My voice finally falls. I have never choked on words in my entire life, but breaking the silence feels like a death sentence, “don’t go. Please.”

When did we get to this point? What did I do to make him beg me to simply look at him? What happened to us that I feel like begging him to stay is my only option?

Thousands of thoughts pound through my head, and yet my mouth goes dry as a hand drops from my jaw and trails to my collarbone. The digits trace a jagged line of puckered, pink skin. And the events of that afternoon unfurl around me once again. 

Shouts from behind a closed wooden door. Crawling in through his window per usual. Peeking out from his bedroom and watching a towering middle aged man back him into a corner. The man bending down and wrapping a hand around the neck of a half-shattered 12 oz bottle, lifting it high above his head. Running faster than I ever had in my entire life. Standing in front of him before anyone had registered it. The stinging of glass against flesh, cutting through my shirt and skin in one go. 

The slight pressure on my scar lifts, sucking me back to the boy in front of me. His brows are furrowed and his grip on my jaw is tighter, while the hand on my chest rests at his side.

“I… _we_ hold you back. This family - this _life_ \- isn’t something for you to concern yourself with. I’m confused and clingy and weak and… and…” His eyes meet mine, searching them intently. 

Those ten fingers slither around each side of my head. Soft palms rest on either cheek, and restless thumbs tug at strands of hair.

“And… hopeless. Tsukishima Kei. I am confused, clingy, weak, and hopelessly in love with my best friend.” 

He closes his eyes, allowing a soft grin to settle on his face. His entire body seems calmer. He is lighter yet more grounded than I’ve ever seen him.

Or maybe it’s me. Though I’m breathless, it feels as though I am full of oxygen. I am full of life and hope. 

I don’t know when I came to this realization. I don’t remember telling myself so explicitly how much I wanted to to touch him, to love him. Maybe this is the first time, maybe I’ve known every minute of the past 10 years.

I don’t know how long I stood there in shock, but it was long enough for a weight to settle back onto Yamaguchi’s shoulders. He keeps his eyes shut painfully tight, but his grin contorts into a grimace, and his hands begin to retreat. Without missing a beat, I reach up and return his hands to my face. 

Mirroring him, I will my fingers to stop shaking as I hold his face in my hands. I take as many steps as it takes to get to him. Everything feels frantic. It feels like if I don’t close this distance soon, if I let go for a minute or miss a single step, this feeling will be torn from me and incinerated. 

“Look at me, please.” I echo his earlier plea, although I know I’m not begging this time. I don’t need to, because as soon as I close my mouth, his brown eyes meet mine. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” I make sure every word is steady, I want so badly for him to understand, to feel what I feel, “I am confused, irritable, distant, and hopelessly in love with my best friend.” 

With the last two syllables, I thread my fingers into his hair and pull slightly. His gaze never wavers from me, he’s unreadable for several agonizing moments in which we are simply looking at each other. He finally lets out a small exhale, and I take it as a cue to keep going.

I lean down slowly, our breaths beginning to mingle, our noses inches from one another. I move a hand to the small of his back, fitting my fingers perfectly into the dips and curves of his spine. 

“Yamaguchi,” my voice is nearly above a whisper as I hold him tighter, “may I kiss you?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the distance, and I feel whole. I never really believed all that stuff about finding your “other half.” It seemed stupid, that love causes you to no longer feel whole. I get it now. I get it as our lips mould together. I get it as I desperately pull him closer. I get it as I hold this small person in my arms, as his hands pull at my hair and his new tears mix with mine. I get it as I finally pull away to look at him, and I get it as I see the small galaxy I’m holding in my hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Comments and Kudos ABSOLUTELY make my day <3 
> 
> If you want to yell at me about these funky gay volleyball players, or more abstract things, feel free to stalk my Twitter @okay_then_buddy :D
> 
> Until next time :)  
> -G.L.


End file.
